Keepsake Undying
by lupincrazed
Summary: The events before Sirius Black's sentence to Azkaban and a bit into his imprisonment.


"I hereby sentence Sirius Black to lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban for the murders of Peter Pettigrew and thirteen muggles under the alliance of Lord Voldemort. May you face horrors worse than the deaths you caused, Black. Take him away."

The gavel hit the wood, prompting the censures of the spectators in the dark circular room to break out. Men were hollering, as well as the women, though some wept, for their Casanova Black would be gone forever.

The rows of seats began to empty as people filtered out and crowded to the door, where a young man was being led away.

"_Damn._ If I only had my wand," he growled deeply.

"Ah, no luck, son. Olie just snapped it this morning, didn't ya, Ol?" Asked the Ministry official, holding his wand to the man's throat.

"Sure did. You ain't gonna be doing magic from now on. Not within the cells of Azkaban. _Terrible _place it is, I 'ear."

"Awful. 'Specially wit' those new guards they have."

"New guards? What new guards?" The man asked.

"Dementors," Olie said. "Foul, cold, life-sucking fiends. But you'll know al about them soon enough, you filthy murderer."

The crowd continued to follow them until they reached a small alcove in the corridor just outside the entrance to the Magical Law Enforcement Department. There sat nothing but a brown leather suitcase.

"Alright, Mister Black, take a last look at your people, if they can stand the sight of you," the official said, turning Sirius around.

Vicious remarks and threats flowed from the crowd and burned his ears with their odium. But his steely-gray eyes scanned the faces, hoping to catch someone, someone who he loved, who loved him, who trusted him, who knew the truth.

But they were dead; another set of deaths engraved onto his mind. And these people blamed him for them. To think that he would actually do that… kill them… James and Lily.

Or Harry.

Harry, his godchild. His only hope to cling to that there was still good left in the world, one inhabited by anger, hatred, weakness, and revenge.

Harry. He remembered like it was yesterday, he was lying back on the sofa in the Potter's living room, holding their sleeping son on his chest. His hands rested on the baby boy's back as he suckled his thumb, rising and falling ever so slightly whenever Sirius breathed.

Even at year he resembled James extraordinarily except for his eyes. The emerald eyes of his mother, Lily, which he was certain Harry would hear about for the rest of his life.

But once his dearest friends had been murdered, Harry had become his only concern. So badly did he want to be the one that took him in, to keep the living memory of his loved ones. But it had been planned for little Harry to be sent to live with Lily's family, muggles. Hagrid was to bring him, and it broke his heart as he watched the two things he loved that had remained in his life disappear: Harry and his motorcycle.

Sirius thought about those two now as the volume in his mind scaled, and the voices of the crowd returned.

"I think they've 'ad enough," Olie sneered.

The two men grabbed Sirius by the arms and threw him against the wall.

Sirius gasped, but kept concentrating. Harry… motorcycle… riding… holding Harry… humming engine... godchild…

The Ministry official levitated the brown leather suitcase with his wand as Olie checked his watch.

"Three… two… one…"

"Catch" was the last word Sirius heard as the suitcase came flying at his body and the crowd disappeared.

_Harry… Harry.._ He thought as the white walls of the corridor swirled and spun beneath and around him. Slowly, the world around him grew darker and colder. He held onto the image of his godson and tightly as he did the suitcase.

Then the motion stopped. Everything stopped as the silent roaring of fear and isolation filled Sirius's ears, and the choking cold pressed against his lungs.

All around him they stood. Tall, dark, hooded creatures that floated. These were the shadows of nightmares, a black reflection of what was life, color, and happiness.

The suitcase fell from his arms as he stared at each one of them, repeated waves of terror drowning him as he tried to breathe.

And then it was gone. He searched the empty chambers of his mind where it was supposed to be, where he could always find it, but it was gone.

He had lost the image of Harry, his godson.

Obviously, the suitcase had been a Portkey, but it also contained the papers that needed to be given to the prison master, confirming the terms of his incarceration. He was going to be a 'maximum security' prisoner, which he found out only meant that a Dementor would be stationed outside his cell at all times.

The cells appeared to have been hewn from the side of a mountain. Stone walls, dusty floors, a bed and a toilet.

Sirius was given a set of prison robes: thin with black and grey horizontal stripes. He was allowed to keep his coat for the cold, though not before it had been searched for wands, knives, fire arms (whatever those were), and chisels.

Once all the procedural business was through, and the prison master set the locking charms on his cell, Sirius backed up until his legs hit the mattress of his bed, and he sat down.

So this was what it was like to be a murderer, or rather, a caught murderer.

No. This was worse.

As he shifted positions and began to lie down, he searched again for Harry. But he wasn't waiting for him there on the sofa. All he had now was the uncomfortable, lumpy mattress beneath him and the cold stone. He wasn't even one of the lucky ones who got a window in their cell. He'd never hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks again. He'd never see the sky again.

Tucking the pillow a bit more under his head, he tried to will himself to sleep, but as he closed his eyes, the hollow sound of wind swept around the corridor and into his cell. His eyes remained halfway open and he watched the white fog he exhaled from his parted lips as the room grew colder.

His guard was here.

The Dementor stood at his barred door. Its face was pitless and dark like a black hole, sucking every last bit of warmth from the room.

Sirius clenched his jaw and folded his hands under his head, trying to appear as a peaceful, unperturbed sleeper. He accepted the cold, allowing it to fill him and begin its process of numbing his body of every recollection he'd ever associated with heat, easily allowing him to let those go, too.

_This is not what life is to be. Not mine_.

Everyone and everything was lost from his life. He had nothing left, and soon the madness of absence would take hold of him.

[i_]"James, please, make me your secret-keeper," Sirius said impatiently to his friend's back._

_"Padfoot, I won't. They'll suspect you before anyone. You're Harry's godfather, for Merlin's sake."_

_Sirius grabbed James's arms. "I would never tell. You know that, James."_

_Instead of shrugging his hands off of him, James stared steadily into his eyes. "I know you'd never," he said softly._

_Sirius stepped back, running a hand through his hair. "Then why? Why can't I be?"_

_"Look, there is no point in pushing this. Lily and I decided on Peter. Dumbledore will be performing the charm on us tomorrow," James said, finishing and nervously._

_"Peter? You chose Peter… over me?"_

_"We thought it would be best. Sirius, we aren't going to put you in danger. You mean the world to all three of us. You're my best mate. Can you… can you please, just accept this for me?" James asked, his commonly devious hazel eyes, grave._

_Sirius frowned, and closed his eyes, saying, "Of course, Prongs. I will. Lord knows, you all are the only family that I've got. Things will turn out ok, James. They will."_

_James smiled, clapping his hand on Sirius's shoulder, Sirius doing the same to him._

That was the last time he ever saw his best friend.

The night had only consisted of three hours of sleep. Every minute of his slumber was a dream of a memory. Memories were all that he had now, he thought, as he stared at the stone wall from his bed.

How he ached to be with his friends again, to see their faces and hear their laughter. Those who he had called friends were fewer in number these days. And Sirius knew that hindrance would never remedy itself.

Somewhere, he figured Remus would be overrun with mixed thoughts and emotions as to whether his dear old chum really was guilty. But it was only a matter of time before the media and the Ministry cracked down on and completely annihilated any logical hope for his innocence.

Because the fact that he was innocent was illogical, to everyone else on the planet.

Except for Peter.

The thought of even his name sent fire over Sirius's skin. He could feel his eyes darkening in rage as he pondered what exactly he'd like to do to the disgusting, betrâying bastard. It was Peter who was supposed to be locked in this cell, every good image or thought sucked from his mind, and no hope of ever leaving this god-forsaken island. Peter had stolen his life away. He'd stolen James and Lily's, too.

Memories, he had, yes.

And revenge.

-FIN-


End file.
